Five Times James Kirk Missed Christmas
by Aconitum-Napellus
Summary: Five Times James Kirk Missed Christmas, and One Time Spock Made Sure He Didn't. I jumped on the bandwagon with the Five Times thing. Something slashy for Christmas.
1. I

The first time couldn't be blamed on anyone. The world that Captain Kirk was currently on had never heard of Jesus or Bethlehem, or holly and ivy, or one horse open sleighs. It had never heard of Earth, or of humans, or of any of their multifarious religious celebrations. It was doubtful it had ever even heard of snow…

Christmas was not foremost in Jim Kirk's mind at that moment either, crouched as he was behind a half-shattered concrete wall, phaser in hand, with the heat of a desert sun beating down upon his back and desiccated weed-like plants crumbling under his boots.

Another volley of weapons fire hit the wall and he ducked instinctively, even though his head was already well down. Shards of concrete splintered off from the force of the energy striking the barrier before him, peppering his face like tiny darts. He wiped his hand across his cheek and saw blood on his knuckles, and he swore under his breath.

'Captain, may I suggest – '

Spock's voice was ridiculously calm in the face of the noise and the chaos around them. Kirk couldn't see him, but he could feel him, so close to him he was almost touching, angled to cover the captain from behind while Kirk concentrated on the rubble-strewn street in front of them.

'If you're going to suggest I should leave Bones in there – ' Kirk began heatedly.

His narrowed gaze on the building opposite never faltered, and his hand remained steady on his phaser, despite his clipped, tense tone of voice.

'Nothing of the sort, Captain,' Spock said in a low voice that managed to cut through the blasting gunfire better than a shout. 'I was about to suggest that you allow me to make an attempt at crossing to the building opposite. I am considerably faster and more – '

'Not for a moment, Spock,' Kirk said decisively. 'It's my responsibility. I sent him in there. It's my job to get him out.'

'Dr McCoy volunteered to attend the casualties,' Spock pointed out. 'No one expected the situation to escalate to the point of a hostage situation.'

'If we can just get in there and bring down the force field we can beam them all straight up.'

'Agreed,' Spock nodded. 'But there is very little 'just' about that scenario. May I suggest that we _both_ go, Jim. If you take the left hand course and I cut to the right I should think that one of us might make it to the building. Their fire is continuous but not thick. I don't think they have many sentries.'

'All right,' Kirk said after a moment. 'All right, but if you get hurt I'll – '

'I'm sure you will do your best for me, as we are now doing for the good doctor,' Spock said rationally.

'All right,' Kirk said again. 'On my mark, then. Three, two – '

'Jim,' Spock interrupted, and Kirk stopped in amazement, turning as Spock turned so they were finally facing one another. Spock leant forward just enough to plant a kiss on Jim's lips, and said in a very low voice, 'Good luck.'

'I didn't think luck was for Vulcans,' Jim replied with a quick smile.

'No,' Spock said. 'It is for you.'

'Good luck, Spock,' Jim said. 'Three, two, one – go!'

As they split and both tore out across the rubble littered street, weapons fire erupted around them with fresh anger. Jim zigged and zagged, aware of the blue flash of Spock's tunic off to his right and trying not to look at him. He could only concentrate on the path he needed to take, and on avoiding the hot streams of fire that were coming far too close for comfort. As he ducked and rolled behind a half-demolished wall on the other side of the street he suddenly remembered that this was Christmas Day.


	2. II

The second time was most definitely Jim's fault. This Christmas should have been perfect. They were in a layover in Earth orbit for a few days over the holiday period. While shore leave hadn't been universally approved, it was comforting just to be in orbit of home. But due to a mix up with the ship's kitchens there was not a fresh turkey to be found, and Starfleet would give no approval for the cost of last-minute turkey procurement.

That was how they found themselves in the current situation. The stench of shit was overwhelming. It wasn't just the shit. The urea that was mixed in made Jim's eyes water and his throat burn. He couldn't imagine what it must be like for Spock with his acute senses. Add to that the heat of a thousand live turkey bodies and the constant clamour of clucking and gobbling, and it was like being in hell.

'Remind me, Spock, how we got into this situation?' Jim asked.

He was perched on a rail just to keep himself out of the shit and out of the way of sharp, aggressive turkey beaks as the males paraded around, gobbling and inflating themselves to ridiculous proportions. There was hardly room for the creatures to move in here, but they did their best.

'Are you sure you want me to, Jim?' Spock asked innocently.

Kirk snorted, but didn't answer, and Spock seemed to take that as an invitation.

'You suggested that real turkey would be desirable for Christmas Day on the _Enterprise_ ,' Spock began.

'Yes, yes, I know that,' Jim said impatiently.

'You discovered the location of this illegal factory farm and persuaded yourself that in the interest of animal welfare it would be acceptable to remove a portion of the birds, even though your intention was to kill and roast them.'

Jim groaned.

'On breaking in to the location your communicator dropped into the faeces on the floor and was rendered inert,' Spock continued. 'You had instructed me to travel without a communicator in order to minimise consequences if our movements were traced. On entering the barn you failed to chock the door – '

'I failed?' Jim interrupted, almost choking on his indignation. ' _I_ failed?'

Spock's eyebrow rose smoothly. 'May I remind you, Jim, that I an a vegetarian? I also do not feel compelled to celebrate Christian holidays.'

Jim pushed his hands over his face and groaned again. 'Umpteen alien prison cells you've been in, Spock.'

'Umpteen is hardly a precise term, Jim,' Spock said.

Unlike Jim, Spock was still somehow immaculately clean. Jim just couldn't fathom it. How could the Vulcan walk into the poultry version of hell, and remain utterly, completely clean? He was like a cat.

'Umpteen times, Spock. You've been locked up and you've managed to crack yourself out somehow. And now we stuck in a barn – a _barn_ of all places! And you fail to get us out!'

Spock shifted a little on the rail beside his captain. 'I am sure the ship will locate us soon,' he said.

'I told the ship not to track us,' Kirk sighed.

'In that case, since the feeding system here appears to be largely automated, it is entirely likely that we won't be discovered until the day following Christmas Day,' Spock opined. 'It is very doubtful, considering the neglect to which these birds are obviously subject, that anyone will come in here until the holiday period is over.'

Jim stared at him, a look of horror descending over his face. 'You mean – we're going to spend Christmas Day locked up in here with thousands of live turkeys? You mean, we could be holed up in my cabin spending time together for once, pop out for Christmas lunch with the crew, back to my cabin for – god, for an uninterrupted night together for the first Christmas we've both had booked off for years – and we're going to spend it here, eating turkey food, until some burly farmhand comes and opens the door and asks _ever so politely_ why a human and a Vulcan are sheltering with his turkeys?'

Spock leant forward and kissed him. He didn't need to confirm what Jim had just said. That would only be rubbing it in.


	3. III

The third time was Spock's fault, although Jim knew he wouldn't admit it, and he wasn't going to berate him over it, anyway. He was desperately worried about the Vulcan. They'd been locked up in this cell for the last three days after Spock had slipped up and revealed their identities, but Spock had been dragged out for questioning ten hours ago and Jim hadn't seen hide or hair of him since. His shouted questions to the guards were ignored, and in the end he just slid down the wall and sat on the floor, reaching out with his thoughts to his t'hy'la for some glimmering of the Vulcan's mind.

He felt nothing. He would know if Spock were dead. He had hoped that he would know if he were in pain, but this absence was almost more disturbing. Spock was cutting him out, and if he were cutting him out it was because what was happening to him was something to which Spock did not want Jim to be exposed.

He closed his eyes and pressed his hands over the top of his head, scratching deep into his hair with sudden ferocity. He was sure there were parasites in this cell. There certainly wasn't much else. He wondered bleakly if he could eat them.

Last night had been Christmas Eve. Today was Christmas Day. True, he had woken at Spock's side, but so far there had been no food and only a pail of dirty water, precious little warmth, and no comfort. He had got close to losing count of time, but he thought it was getting on towards night. Soon Christmas would be over.

He must have fallen asleep, hunched against the wall, because the next thing he knew, the door was opening, and he was suddenly awake, aware of someone being shoved into the cell, and he looked up to see Spock standing shakily in the middle of the small room. Even in the dim light he could see the blood on his face.

'Spock!' he cried, jumping to his feet too fast and finding his legs were asleep. 'Spock,' he said again, stumbling over to the Vulcan and putting his hands on his arms. Spock winced almost imperceptibly. 'Spock, what did they do?' he asked, realising that the Vulcan was still blocking him from his mind.

'I am all right, Jim,' Spock said. He moved stiffly across the room and sat down against the wall. Jim watched him intently for small signs of pain.

'What did they _do_ , Spock?' Jim asked again.

Spock's eyebrow quirked upward above a bruised eye.

'Very crude, Jim,' Spock said. His voice was slightly hoarse. 'Fists and boots. Nothing more.'

'Nothing more?' Jim tried to hold in his rage. 'Spock, they've beaten you to a pulp!'

'Nothing the good doctor cannot fix once we are beamed up,' Spock replied calmly.

'Once – _if_ ,' Jim said cynically.

'Once,' Spock said with a peculiar emphasis on the word.

'What do you mean, Spock?' Jim asked, suddenly curious.

Suddenly the barriers were down, and he was there with Spock in his mind, aware of the pain that the Vulcan was fighting to suppress. But through that Spock showed him a memory. He was in a small, brightly lit room, not a dedicated interrogation room, but just an office of some kind. There were four men in there, dressed in military uniforms. Spock was sitting on a chair. A fist came in and struck him on the side of the head, and Spock crumpled, everything going dark. He hit the floor hard, but stayed silent. Perhaps if he were quiet they would leave him alone for a while, thinking he was unconscious. But it was more than that. He listened to their murmured conversation, realising that they meant to step out for a moment, to 'leave him to it and take a break.' Interrogation was wearying for the interrogators, it seemed.

And they had left him alone in the room, and in those few minutes of peace Spock had got up, hobbled across to the communications console, and contacted the _Enterprise_. By Spock's estimate, the ship would have located them via its scans within the next five hours.

As Jim felt the warmth of Spock's mind withdraw from his, he also felt the hum of the transporter beam starting up in his cells.


	4. IV

The fourth time felt like the worst yet. There was no war zone, no prison cell, no stench of turkeys in a shed too small for them. They weren't even away from the ship. There they were on the _Enterprise_ , and Jim knew for a fact that there was a Christmas party going on several decks below. But here he was stuck in one of the larger reception rooms, a space milling with aliens from all areas of the Federation, a medley of species, skin tones, and costumes. His dress uniform felt like it was choking him, and the entire spread of food was vegetarian in deference to the strictly plant-eating Da'Ensheners. He missed his crew. He missed his turkey dinner. He missed _Spock_. God how he missed Spock. Even though his first officer and partner was in the same room as him, he might as well have been on another ship, so engrossed was he in conversation with the Vulcan delegates, an extremely handsome young man and an equally attractive woman.

Jim couldn't deny that he felt a little jealous. He also felt a little turned on as he imagined a _menage_ with not only Spock, but also that cream-skinned twenty-something Vulcan woman and her dark, slightly older male companion. By god, all those lean Vulcan limbs, the woman's pert young breasts, the man's muscular physique...

'...as I'm sure you'll agree, Captain,' a sibilant voice broke into his thoughts.

Jim started, looking back to the pale blue skinned Andorian who had just spoken, his face going crimson as he was interrupted in his highly carnal thoughts.

'Oh – oh, yes, of course I agree, Thol,' he nodded, at which there was something akin to a small explosion to his left.

'You _agree_? You _agree_ , Captain?'

The Tellarite ambassador was incensed, his own piggy complexion flushing even redder than Jim's own had gone.

'Oh, well, I – ' he began to backtrack, feeling acutely embarrassed and confused.

'You agree to the Andorian annexation of what is _clearly_ Tellarite space?' the Tellarite continued to splutter, so exercised that spittle was forming on his pig-like muzzle.

'I'm sorry, Thol. Axan. I have to admit I wasn't giving you my full attention,' Jim stammered, but the Andorian Thol continued, smooth as a snake.

'But of course you agree, Captain, because that area of space should clearly fall under Andorian authority. Only the most dull minded _shagneth_ would even consider – '

And the Tellarite pushed him with both hands, spilling the slight Andorian onto a table full of exotic vegetarian cuisine, which launched itself into the air around him and splattered back not only over Thol, but also over Jim's choking dress tunic and the Tellarite Axan's silver reflective jacket.

Jim stepped between the two as Thol regained his feet, holding up his hands in a gesture of peace, only to be barrelled into on one side by an Andorian absolutely covered in some kind of slimy yellow sauce, and by the not inconsiderable bulk of the Tellarite on the other. The breath was squeezed out of him as he became part of a kind of alien sandwich that was far from the _menage_ he was imagining a few moments ago.

Somehow in the course of the next few minutes the collar of that restrictive dress tunic was ripped open and someone had struck him across the face with a soggy, sauce-soaked arm. His tunic was hanging off him, and his bare chest became smeared with remnants of the finest Da'Enshener food as he rolled on the floor with the Andorian and Tellarite delegates on either side of him, the Tellarite apparently trying to knock the Andorian's head off with his hooves and the Andorian fighting back with a snake-like intensity that Jim would have thought was beyond these slight, fragile seeming aliens.

His Christmas Day ended in a phaser strike on stun, which enveloped all three of the men rolling on the floor, and sent him into a dark oblivion.


	5. V

The fifth time, though, was really the worst. He hadn't imagined at the time how bad it could be until now, here on Vulcan, without Spock.

They didn't celebrate Christmas on Vulcan. Of course they didn't – except in a few select human-populated areas such as around the Earth embassy. There was no such thing as snow, either, not where he was. To Jim fifty degrees centigrade, a red sky, and air so thin he could hardly breathe weren't Christmas at all.

He had been imagining spending this Christmas somewhere on Earth, preferably somewhere with snow, cosied up with Spock in front of a burning log fire, no one there but themselves. He had imagined it being perfect.

Instead, Spock had disappeared. He could hardly fathom it, had had no inkling of the apparently emotional crisis that had built up in the Vulcan that had led to this. He had just discovered him gone one morning, all of his scant belongings neatly removed, the door closed, and a flashing notification on the computer console that there was a message waiting to be read.

The message was written, not audio, and it was clipped and spare. _I have taken the decision to follow Kolinahr. We shall not meet again._

He had been left reeling. Spock, gone. Every facet of his life that had been intertwined with Jim's was neatly packed up and taken away. He had grown used to Spock's presence in his mind, and now there was nothing. That was the worst of all.

It hadn't taken him long to book his passage to Vulcan, after he had looked up that word, Kolinahr, and discovered its full chilling meaning. It meant that Spock would be severed from him for life, that he would never speak to his precious Vulcan again, never share his thoughts, never touch his skin. It had felt like a death; but worse than that, a betrayal, too. Spock had _chosen_ this. It was as if he had chosen suicide.

It was Christmas morning as he stood in an office in ShiKahr, arguing with a blank-faced Vulcan about his right to discover where Spock was. It was like arguing with a wall, except that he could have gained some satisfaction from punching a wall, whereas if he tried to punch the Vulcan he would probably find himself very quickly immobilised and in a very clean and efficient Vulcan jail cell.

He kept himself from punching the Vulcan, but only just. His hands itched with the need to lash out. It took him five hours through various channels to find that Spock had gone to Gol – indeed, that all Vulcans who undertook the Kolinahr went to Gol. It did not take much longer to discover that all Vulcans undergoing Kolinahr were incommunicado, and would never speak to former friends or family again.

After that he didn't know what to do. For a while he sat, shocked and empty, on the kerb of a Vulcan street. Then he called Spock's parents and spoke to his mother, to find her almost as shocked and lost as he was. No, she had no idea why he had come to this decision; no, she didn't know if she would ever see her son again. Yes, it was like a death.

He even went up to Gol and stood at the outer entrance, arguing with one of the Vulcans on duty there. They would not call themselves guards, but they were muscular and unyielding, and would not let him in. Short of commandeering a transporter and abducting Spock – something he would not let himself do – there was nothing left to try.

He took a shuttle to the embassy area of ShiKahr and elbowed his way into the single human bar there, where humans and aliens mingled in one of the few places one could buy alcohol on this planet. Vintage Christmas music blared from concealed speakers and holographic light displays pulsed through the forms of Christmas trees, Santa, stars, and a cherry-nosed reindeer.

Jim ordered up a scotch, and began to drink.


	6. The1TimeSpockMadeSureJimDidn'tMissXmas

It had been a long road after Spock had disappeared into the seclusion of Gol. Jim had never felt so alone as in that time, severed from his t'hy'la's mind, stuck in an admiralcy on Earth that he'd never really wanted and shouldn't have accepted.

But now he had his ship back. He had his crew back. And most of all, he had _Spock_ back. And this was a different Spock. When he had returned to the _Enterprise_ he had been like a wall of slate, unapproachable, ungiving. But since his encounter with V'Ger all that had changed. He couldn't say that the Vulcan was exactly emotional, not overtly, but V'Ger had loosened him. It had brought him past that terrible moment of self-doubt that had led him to pursue Kolinahr, past the chilling emptiness he had shown on his return to the ship, and through to a warmer and more open state in which he could, occasionally, show emotion with comfort.

That first night after they had returned to Earth, after V'Ger had shut up shop and gone home, as McCoy had put it, had been torrid and wonderful. Spock had come to Jim's quarters and entered tentatively, like a cat in new territory, full of unspoken apology and new hope. And Jim had forgiven him wordlessly, taking him in his arms and holding him, burying his face against the fabric of his clothes, and then, after he had peeled the Vulcan like a ripe fruit, against the spiced scent of his skin. Their lovemaking had been fevered and urgent, and had gone on through the night. McCoy had assessed the bags under his eyes and the content look on his face the next morning, and had just given him a knowing smile. Spock was back, and all was right with the world.

Now it was Christmas Eve, and Jim was enduring a Christmas season of tedium, sat in orbit of Earth waiting for orders, with nothing to do and nowhere to go. He sat in his quarters wishing for the walls around him to be a bit more – well, just a bit more homely, a bit more alive. This wasn't yet _his Enterprise_. It wasn't yet _his_ quarters. It was just a room, and a bland room, at that.

When the buzzer sounded and the door slipped open to reveal Spock, the Vulcan's angular features and dark hair were a relief from the beige and grey of the room.

'Oh, Spock,' he said, smiling, a feeling of warmth pushing away the boredom. Then he noticed that the Vulcan held cases in his hands, and a chill ran through him. 'Spock?' he asked tentatively, in sudden fear that Spock had again made the decision to back out of this most human relationship.

'Our leave has been granted, Jim,' Spock said in his deep, warm voice.

Jim did a double take. He ran a hand confusedly through his hair. 'Leave? What leave, Spock?'

'Our leave, Jim,' Spock said, his eyes sparkling even though his face was quite composed. 'I applied to Command some time ago. We have ten days, starting now.'

Jim looked around, almost dithering at the thought of leaving this ship that was so new to him. Then he mentally slapped himself. Was he crazy? Ten day's leave with Spock, with Christmas tomorrow and then the rest of the week stretching out ahead?

'Well – uh – have you made arrangements, Spock?' he asked, getting up from behind his desk.

Spock's eyebrow tilted. 'I'm not sure what you take me for, Jim,' he said in a supremely relaxed tone, coming across the room with the ease of a cat, cases still in his hands. 'I have packed for you, and I have made all the arrangements.'

'Where are we going, Spock?' he asked, feeling amazed.

There was almost a smirk on the Vulcan's face. 'That is between me and the transporter operator,' he said. 'Are you ready to go?'

'Now?' Jim asked in amazement. 'I mean – _right_ now?'

'Right now,' Spock nodded. 'As I said, I have made all the arrangements.' He crossed to Jim's closet and brought out his mustard yellow field jacket. 'Put this on, Jim,' he said. 'It will be cold.'

Well, that threw out most Southern Hemisphere destinations and tropical resorts. Spock had some familiarity with east coast USA, Jim knew, and of course Iowa was cold at this time of year. Maybe...

No. He wouldn't allow himself to speculate and spoil the surprise. He shouldered himself into the jacket and followed the Vulcan out into the corridor.

((O))

In the transporter room Rand handed Spock his own yellow field jacket with a knowing smile, and Spock put it on, exchanging a look with the woman that spoke of secrets shared.

'You have the coordinates,' he said, formal as ever despite the warmth in his eyes.

'Yes, sir,' she said smartly, gesturing the pair onto the transporter pads. 'Have a lovely time, gentlemen, and happy Christmas.'

'Thank you,' Jim said, still feeling slightly bewildered. He had been expecting an evening of paperwork, not this. 'Uh – you too, Janice. Have a lovely time.'

'Thank you, sir,' she replied, the grin on her face broadening. 'Oh, Mr Spock,' she said, holding something up in her hand that looked like wool, and tossing it to him as soon as he had noticed her gesture. He caught the woolly bundle, and pulled on a knitted red beanie with white snowflake patterns around it.

'Thank you, Chief,' Spock said gravely.

Jim looked at him and held in a snort of laughter. He was filled with a mixture of mirth and nostalgia, remembering all those times in their first five year mission when Spock had worn hats like this to hide his ears.

'Hey, where's mine?' he asked with mock petulance.

'There is one in your case, Jim,' Spock said.

'Beside, you don't feel the cold like Mr Spock does, sir,' Rand put in. 'We need to keep him warm.'

'Oh, believe me, Miss Rand, I know just how to look after Mr Spock,' Jim said emphatically.

'Jim, we are due for beam down,' Spock reminded him, and Jim looked at him with a grin, wondering if the Vulcan were becoming embarrassed.

'Okay,' he said, making himself look serious again and turning back toward Chief Petty Officer Rand with a more captainly expression on his face. 'Beam us down, Chief.'

Rand's hands moved on the console, and the ship dissolved, to be replaced by a white wilderness of snow that dazzled the eyes. Jim blinked as he reformed, seeing the landscape take on shape as his eyes adjusted; stone walls capped with a thick foot of snow, bare-branched trees and a few evergreens heavy with snow, rising mountains that almost blended into the white sky. He exhaled, and his breath came out in a white cloud.

'Well! Spock, where are we?' he asked in amazement.

Spock looked smug, if chilly. 'The Cairngorms, Jim. That's in – '

'The Highlands of Scotland,' Jim finished for him, turning around on the crunching snow to take in the full circle of the scenery. Behind them was a low cottage, bulging with natural boulders that made up the walls, its roof lost under its own blanket of snow. 'Wow, Spock...'

He turned to his lover and embraced him, sharing a long kiss that warmed the Vulcan's chilly lips.

'Come on, Spock,' he said. 'Let's go inside.'

((O))

'It is a five hundred year old cottage,' Spock said as they reclined in front of a crackling fire. 'Originally it was inhabited by labourers, but it has been holiday accommodation for the past hundred years.'

Outside dark was falling, and the snow gleamed palely with the last light of the sun. The scent of mulled wine and good food lingered in the air. Spock was sitting on the floor with his back against an armchair. Jim lay stretched out on the rug with his head in the Vulcan's lap. Tinsel and streamers that were strung across the ceiling moved gently in the warm rising air. In the corner of the room a real Christmas tree stood, ornaments glinting in the fire's glow, tiny coloured lights twinkling softly.

'You paid for all of this to be done?' Jim asked, waving his hand vaguely at the decorations.

'Of course,' Spock nodded, his hand on Jim's head, stroking across his hair. 'It is agreeable?'

'Spock, it's beautiful,' Jim said sincerely.

'The kitchen is fully stocked. There is firewood for more than ten days. If we so wish we do not have to leave these walls,' Spock said, the deep rumble of his voice travelling directly from his torso into Jim's ear. 'If we do wish to go outside – there are skis, and a toboggan.'

'A toboggan?' Jim asked, grinning, twisting his neck to look up at the Vulcan. He imagined him astride a proper old-fashioned wood toboggan, careening down a hill. That was something he had to see before these ten days were out.

'Yes, Jim,' Spock said quite gravely.

'Do you know, I don't think we've ever had a proper Christmas together,' Jim mused. 'Do you remember that time on Beldania Prime? In a war zone, Bones held hostage in that half-demolished place on the other side of the street...'

'We retrieved the doctor safely,' Spock said. 'That was Christmas present enough.'

'Well, what about those turkeys?' Jim asked. 'Dear god, that smell...'

'We missed Christmas, but we celebrated in our own way,' Spock replied.

Jim closed his eyes, listening to the crackle of the fire, feeling the heat on his cheek. He was remembering that last time, when he had been looking forward to a week something like this, and had woken up to find Spock gone, apparently forever.

'Don't think of it,' Spock said softly, his fingers straying over the captain's forehead, his mind obviously picking up those stray thoughts. He bent to lightly kiss Jim's head. 'The Kolinahr was a grave mistake, as I found out. It is not a mistake I will repeat.'

'You're never going to go away again,' Jim murmured.

'I will do everything in my power not to,' Spock said.

((O))

In the bedroom was another Christmas tree, a smaller one with sparkling lights and colourful ornaments. The bed was an antique with a brass frame, covered in a rich red woven blanket, and had held the human and Vulcan cosily all night. The small wood-framed windows looked out over a vista of snow-covered mountains, and let in just enough cold to make the bed feel like the warmest place in the world.

Jim turned over in bed to see the sun just starting to glimmer over the tops of the mountains, sending sheets of gold out over the snow. High in the air a bird circled, but all else was still. Spock was just stirring, but the covers were pulled so high over him that only the dark crown of his head showed. Jim twitched the blankets back to expose a pointed ear flushed with warmth, and kissed it, murmuring, 'Happy Christmas, Spock.'

Spock stretched under the covers and moved closer to Jim, bringing the blazing heat of his naked body against the human's. Jim made a wordless noise of pleasure and pushed himself against the Vulcan.

'Merry Christmas, Jim,' Spock said.

Jim reached his hand down into that fire of warmth to feel the soft stirring between Spock's legs. Spock sighed with pleasure as the human stroked along his slowly stiffening organ. Their lips met in a kiss, and Jim pressed closer, bringing his own morning erection against Spock's.

'I love you, my beautiful Vulcan,' Jim murmured, and Spock kissed him again, saying nothing, but Jim could feel the depth of his love as the Vulcan's fingers traced over his forehead. It was like plummeting into a space that had no bottom. No wonder Spock had been afraid enough to flee to Gol. This was a maelstrom in that orderly brain, a whirl of passion, joy, warmth, jealousy, and desire.

He returned the kiss, trying to erase every fear and insecurity in the Vulcan's mind with that kiss. Spock was such a different being now, just from that single meld with the machine-being V'Ger. With that Spock had been exposed to the feelingless existence that he could have, that Kolinahr might have given him, and thank god he had chosen the other path, an acceptance of the emotion that made him what he was. One would never guess it from looking at the Vulcan's composed countenance, but Jim could feel it in every interaction; the ease that Spock now had, the release of guilt, the acknowledgement that he had feelings and although he did not need to let them control him, he did not have to be ashamed.

He burrowed himself under the covers and gave himself to Spock entirely, letting the Vulcan explore his body with burning fingers until Spock growled and nudged his legs apart. The Vulcan took spiced oil from beside the bed and tipped it onto his hand, then slipped a finger gently between Jim's cheeks, through the muscular ring and into the heat of his body. Jim gasped and arched as Spock introduced another finger, then a third, and then replaced them with the soft-hardness of his erection. The sensation as Spock pushed home sent thrills rushing tightly through his loins.

The Vulcan brought his hands up to the human's face, tracing fingertips across his temples, and as he pulled out and came home again Jim felt the sudden electric surge of Spock's mind in his, his thoughts reaching into Jim's and becoming one. He surrendered himself to Spock's pleasure, letting the Vulcan's primal arousal set his own on fire as Spock's slim hips thrust against his body. He could feel the grip of his own body around Spock's organ, he could feel how all logic and intellectual thought had been pushed away to be replaced with pleasure. Spock could feel the electric arousal that Jim felt, the tight urgency in his balls, the glide of Spock inside him and the pressure of his belly against Jim's erection, moving with each thrust.

Together they exploded in orgasm, and all awareness of the outside world was annihilated in a dizzying glow. Spock lay against Jim's chest, panting, his head close against Jim's and his arms loose on the bed beside him. Jim turned his head and kissed him, and kissed him again, lost in the scent of the spiced oil and their own bodies.

'Dear god, Spock,' he murmured.

'Merry Christmas,' Spock replied.

They lay entwined in the bed, watching a gentle drift of snow falling from the sky and creating a haze before the mountains. Jim was used to having the galaxy before him, but right now he felt like his universe was no bigger than this cosy room with his Vulcan in his arms. He needed nothing more.


End file.
